The key turned twice in the lock with a rusty sound, which the brothers
could distinguish from any other sound in the world, and an atmosphere
redolent of wine and mould met them as they entered. The Consul shut the
door, and said, "There now, the world will have to get on without us for
a little while." The inner wine-cellar looked as if it were considerably
older than the house itself, and the groined roof had a resemblance to
the cloister of an old monastery. It was so low that Richard had to bend
his head a little, and even the Consul felt inclined to stoop when he
was down there.

In the old bins lay bottles of different shapes covered with dust and
cobwebs, and in the recess of what had been a grated window, but was now
walled up on the outside, there stood two old long-stemmed Dutch
glasses, while in one corner there lay a large wine-cask. In front of
the cask was placed an empty tub, between an armchair without a back,
and from the seat of which the horsehair was protruding, and an ancient
rocking-horse that had lost its rockers.

The brothers put down their lights on the bottom of the tub, and took
off their coats, which they hung each on their own peg.

"Well, what's it to be to-day?" said Christian Frederick, rubbing his
hands.

"Port wouldn't be bad," suggested Richard, examining the bin.

"Port wine would be first-rate," answered the Consul, holding out his
light. "But look, there's a row of bottles lying in here that we have
never tried. I should like to know what they are."